


Two weeks in July

by taj_mahal



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Canon Compliant, Friendship, Gen, No Slash, Rivalry, Wimbledon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-05-31 19:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15126296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taj_mahal/pseuds/taj_mahal
Summary: Wimbledon 2018.Part 1 : A few days before it starts Rafa and Roger share a quiet moment, contemplating their past, present and future at Wimbledon.Part 2 : Rafa goes to talk to Roger after the quarterfinals. Things don't go well.Part 3 : Rafa loses his semifinal match... and somehow it's all good.





	1. A touch of providence

Roger is settled at the kitchen table of his rented house in Wimbledon, still chuckling at what the screen of his phone shows. He has seen the message on twitter by chance more than he has actually been looking for it. Obviously a part of Rafa's team has engaged in a friendly round of reenacting the ongoing soccer world cup at the playstation and apparently they have a lot of fun doing it. It seems there is always something going on at Rafa's home away from home these days prior to the beginning of the tournament at Wimbledon. It isn't like Roger's own rented home is particularly quiet with four kids in the mix but it is a different kind of loudness and commotion. And tonight it is indeed quiet. His wife has taken their daughters out, the boys are asleep and Roger is all alone, left with his thoughts and worries. His mindset immediately carries him to the outcome, the prospects of these next two weeks. 

A Wimbledon title – that is the endgame. He has wanted this so badly. Everything he has done since the Australian Open is fixed on those next two weeks. Where he is all grim determination, Rafa – who he is inadvertently thinking of as well after seeing the tweet - seems unbelievably relaxed coming to the tournament site. He has been here almost a full week but he hasn't played so much as a single competitive match in preparation for the Grand Slam... Maybe it's better this way. Roger's own preparation hasn't exactly worked out as he has planned. But then again rarely anything ever goes according to plan when playing a tennis match. If that is the case Roger never would have lost that Wimbledon final 10 years ago.

The thought lingers for a moment, bringing a sad smile to his face for reasons he himself has a hard time grasping. That Sunday at Wimbledon ending in Rafa's victory as dusk started to settle, it's still sort of an out of this world experience to him. More like a dream than a memory. And he knows he isn't the only one feeling this way. Big words had been thrown at both him and Rafa in the wake of that final – history, destiny, legacy, grandeur only to name a few. 

It is exactly a decade ago that they have played a final here that has gone down in the history of tennis as the best match ever played. Interrupted by rain, almost postponed to the next day due to dusk setting in, frustrating at times, elating at others, with a minor scare when Rafa had slipped and fallen on the grass needing a physio to come check on him. Even books have been written about this event. And here they are ten years later, still on the tour, still competing, still at rivalry.

A touch of providence seems to linger in the air, of history repeating itself. Or maybe that is just Roger being left alone with his thoughts in an empty house on a warm early summer night... But to him it feels like this will be a special tournament. Not that other tournaments don't mean anything but Wimbledon is always different and meeting Rafa in a final again is always a remarkable experience. He wishes for it and dreads it at the same time. It will be hard if it comes to that and well deserved if he manages to use another chance at a title that has been so hard to lose on that early summer day ten years back.

An idea pops up in his mind and he isn't exactly sure what possesses him to do it. But once the decision is made, it seems his body simply follows through as if on autopilot. He gets into his shoes, selects a bottle of wine from it's stand in the kitchen, quickly checks on the boys sleeping in their room, grabs the keys, leaves the house and starts walking. It's not a long walk which isn't exactly a surprise given the size of Wimbledon village and the availability of suitable houses in the neighborhood. 

It takes him less than ten minutes to reach the rented house the Nadal entourage has settled into – same as every year. Among a lot of other little quirks and oddities, Rafa is nothing if not a stickler for routine and continuity. There are lights on in the house, shining a soft, yellow light out onto the front lawn from the front facing dining room. Unlike on other evenings he can't see anyone inside though. Roger simply assumes that having the lights on means Rafa and his team are still up. It's a couple of minutes to eleven after all, not exactly late by Spanish standards. He walks up to the door and rings the bell.

It doesn't take long for the door to be opened on him and to both his surprise and relief it's Rafa himself who opens. Had it been anyone else on the team, Roger probably would have a hard time explaining what he is doing here – both in regard of his intentions and due to the language barrier. Still it isn't like Rafa expected him or anything. Roger gives the younger a man a sheepish smile at his astonished expression and gives a small wave with his free hand not holding the bottle of wine.

“Hi...”

“Roger... What are you doing here? Your house is two streets down.”

It's a factual statement and Roger isn't sure whether to smile or feel offended at it. It seems Rafa believes he somehow managed to mix up his own rental home with that of the Spaniard. That in itself is an amusing idea, but it sort of hurts to think that Rafa can't imagine Roger is here not by accident but for a simple social call. Then again it's not something he would usually do. 

“I know that. I'm here on purpose. Mirka took the girls to see Aladdin and the boys are fast asleep. I thought I'd come by... I brought wine.“

Rafa makes a face at the mention of that and Roger has to reign in a grin. The wine is supposed to be an ice breaker but so far it doesn't work well. For a brief second it seems Rafa is debating whether to let Roger in or not but finally he steps back, pulls the door open a little wider and motions for Roger to come inside. The house is surprisingly quiet as Roger enters. He expected to hear voices in the background, maybe even for somebody to come by and check on who the late evening visitor is. But there is no animated conversation in Spanish going on, nobody wandering around. It seems Rafa's house is just as empty as his own. They walk further into the house, passing the kitchen, where the smell of food still lingers and dishes are piling in the sink. Roger gives a quick nod towards the chaos. 

“You had dinner already?”

“Half an hour ago.”

“Where is everybody?”

“Out. To get a drink. Enjoy the evening. They like the warm weather. Is a lot like home, no?”

Roger doesn't know what so say to that. Admittedly he is glad the rest of Rafa's extended entourage isn't here right now. It makes talking to him much easier and it leaves them with a bit more privacy than Roger expected. Then again he has tried to get away from the quiet of his house... He looks around the house, somewhat surprised at the decision of Rafa's team when his eyes fall on the wide sliding glass doors leading out into the garden.

“They could have done that here. There's a patio and a garden, is there not?”

“Yes. But no drinks.”

The explanation is simple enough. Roger wonders for a brief second why Rafa wouldn't join in on the fun but then again it really is nothing of his business. It is to his advantage anyway. Had Rafa gone along the house would be empty now and he would have returned to the quietness of his own four walls. Roger holds up the bottle at Rafa's explanation now, grinning softly.

“Now there is.”

“I'll get glasses. We can sit outside?”

Roger nods at the proposal and can't help but watch the Spaniard as he moves about the rented house with an ease and confidence years of residing here time and again when Wimbledon comes around have ingrained into him. Rafa returns with two wine glasses and leads the way out onto the patio, leaving one of the glass doors slightly ajar. The lights from the living room are the only ones illuminating the patio outside in a dim light, leaving them in semi darkness. 

Rafa hands the glasses to Roger who opens the bottle and fills a quarter of the glasses with the deep red wine, giving one of them to the younger man. Roger is pretty sure it's politeness more than anything else because as soon as they settle down outside, Rafa puts the glass down on the ground next to him, never once touching it. They sit in silence for a few moments and Roger simply watches the other man's fidgeting. Rafa finally stills in his attempt to settle and has managed an angle on the lounge chair Roger can only describe as impossible... and probably not very comfortable. But the younger man seems fine with it, happy and relaxed even. Roger can't help but comment on it.

„How can you lounge about like that. It can't be good for your back...“

„The back is fine.“

There is a defensive streak to Rafa's response and Roger immediately regrets having reacted like this. Somehow he can't shake the feeling that the Spaniard is apprehensive of him being here, reacting somewhat reserved and guarded. Roger takes a sip of his wine. Maybe he shouldn't have come... But then again Rafa has never been dishonest with him. He wouldn't be sitting here, were he not welcome. Maybe it's just a question of getting the conversation started properly. He tries for a new topic.

„You seemed to have a good time last night. We could see you sitting in the dining room, laughing.“

„Are you stalking me, Roger?“

„We simply walked past. It's not a big village after all...“

This time it's Roger's turn to be defensive, not even realizing the cheekiness to Rafa's reaction and the soft smile creeping across his face. Of course Roger hasn't meant to stare. But he and Mirka had taken a late evening stroll last night and that had lead them past the house. Maybe he shouldn't have paid so much attention... It seems whatever he says, he instinctively manages to choose the wrong words and he opts for changing the subject yet again.

„Seems we will be having excellent weather those next two weeks...“

„You want to talk about weather?“

„Why not? It's good, isn't it? The warm weather? It suits you.“

Rafa doesn't answer immediately but simply looks at him for a long moment, a frown creasing his face. It hasn't been meant in a bad way. Roger is still simply trying to get a conversation going so they don't have to sit out here in awkward silence with him regretting that he came here in the first place. But yet again Roger has the distinct feeling he has managed to insult the younger man. 

„Weather makes no victories. Playing well does.“

It is a beautifully simplistic statement on Rafa's part, one Roger can wholeheartedly agree with. In the end it doesn't matter if it's sunny or raining or if there will be two weeks full of thunderstorms. It all depends on how well either one of them will be doing out there on the grass of the courts. Silence settles between them yet again and Roger focuses on the next few sips of his wine. Suddenly that silence is not uncomfortable any more. They are just two men spending time together without any expectations or the need for conversation. Still there is that thought of meaning, of providence that has been lingering all this time, ever since Roger first decided to walk over. It seems as good a time as any to put it into words.

„Can you believe it's been ten years?“

„Ten years of what?“

„Ten years since you won your first Wimbledon.“

There's is a soft smile on Rafa's lips now, so tiny Roger almost misses it in the semi darkness of the garden patio. He would love for a chance to tell what the younger man is thinking right there and then. Maybe Rafa feels the same kind of enormity, the same hint of destiny hanging in the air. Or maybe to him it's just another tournament like all the others year round. His reaction betrays no emotion whatsoever, except for maybe a tiny bit of fondness.

„Long time...“

It's a loaded response, one implying how much has happened since. Grand Slam titles being won, great victories achieved, epic matches played, legacy built... and bitter, heartbreaking moments of defeat, of his own body betraying him in the pursuit of titles lived through, dealt with and come back from. A lot of memories, a lot of moments... moments of greatness. Their conversation has suddenly taken on a grave quality and Roger tries to keep the mood light.

„Doesn't feel like it though, feels like only yesterday.“

Rafa raises an eyebrow at that, his expression somewhere between amused and confused. Obviously the Spaniard doesn't share the sentiment but he doesn't say anything about it. Roger sips at his wine yet again, feeling more at ease around Rafa now that they seem settled and the conversation is flowing. He allows his thoughts to wander, articulating them without actually thinking about it too much. 

„The best match ever played in tennis history, that's what they call it...“

It takes a moment for Rafa to react but when he does he gives a huff and that reaction surprises Roger. He is absolutely sure Rafa feels the same way about that Wimbledon final as the rest of the world does and as Roger does for that matter. The Spaniard has said often enough that it was one if not the most important title he ever won during his professional career. Right here and now though Rafa's opinion seems to have somehow shifted and Roger demands an explanation.

„You don't think so?“

„Was a good match.“

It's a blatant display of ignorance to the fact. Nothing about that match ten years back was simply good. Amazing, astounding and overwhelming are words better associated with it. But still Rafa is sort of dismissive and something about that doesn't sit right with Roger. He takes yet another sip from his wine, empties the glass with it and takes his time to get a refill before picking up the conversation again.

„I think we were brilliant that day.“

„I was 22. If it was my best tennis it means I didn't improve after...“

„No. It just means you had an out of this world day playing and winning that final. It doesn't say anything about how you developed from there and what else you have won since then. It simply means it was a very special day.“

„Yes. It was.“

Finally Rafa admits to the final a decade ago being special and he does so with a shy smile, the sort of which Roger hasn't seen on Rafa's face in quite a while. It seems like something the younger man has outgrown quite a while ago and that is only there due to the memory of a time when he was a lot younger and less experienced than he is now. Roger feels a swell of sudden and unexpected bliss at the reaction that makes the next words come out with ease and to his own surprise Rafa seems to share the sentiment exactly.

„I'd like a repeat...“

„Yes. Would be nice, no?“

For the first time this evening Roger feels relaxed, the worries and insecurities he has been thinking about before coming here effectively quelled. He wonders if the Spaniard would be angry with himself knowing he had – unintentionally - managed to soothe his opponents worries and put his mind at ease about this whole tournament. Mind games are, after all, a big part of the game. It's not just strength and stamina and tactics after all. It's an exercise in mental strength and belief just the same. 

He can ask about Rafa's preparation, can ask how he feels physically, can ask him what he thinks his prospects are for the tournament. But it will be too much like playing journalist, too much like an interrogation. They may be be friends in the wider sense of the words but when it comes to the tournament they are competitors, opponents, rivals – of a class of their own as so many people frequently liked to say – and one simply doesn't inquire after a rivals preparation or physical form. It feels too much like gamesmanship...

Roger's glass is empty again when he takes his next sip and it takes a moment for him to realize he feels just a tiny bit tipsy. He takes a quick look at the watch on his arm and realizes they have been sitting here for more than half an hour. The watch is quickly approaching midnight and he knows it's time for him to leave before both his wife and daughters and Rafa's team return to their respective houses. 

“Mirka should be back soon. I guess I should get going...”

Rafa nods at that and gives him an inviting look, waiting for Roger to get up first, not wanting to create the impression he wants to get rid of the Swiss. Roger takes his glass back inside but leaves the rest of the bottle standing outside on the patio. He follows Rafa to the kitchen, adds the glass to the rest of the chaos of dishes on the sink and then walks to the door. Rafa accompanies him trying to be all sophisticated as the impromptu host that Roger forced him to be.

“Was nice to see you. Thanks for the company and the wine.”

Rafa certainly doesn't mean the part about the wine and that leaves Roger wondering if he means the part about the company. He doesn't allow the thought to linger. Rafa is a nice guy, a polite one but certainly not to the point of allowing himself to be manipulated or pushed over. If he hadn't wanted Roger here, he would have told him so and he never would have set a foot inside the house. Roger raises a hand in goodbye. 

It feels strange to leave like this. Like he has just woken from a very curious dream and tries to find his bearings being back in the real world. This isn't something they would usually do or will do again in the foreseeable future. But this is special, fueled by that sense of fate he has been feeling due to the 10th anniversary of their epic Wimbledon final. It is not their usual way of being around one another but that doesn't mean it isn't a nice thing to share. For now however they are going back to being rivals again. After all there is a prestigious Grand Slam about to start... 

“I'll see you out there...”

“Yes. You will.”

 

\- FIN -


	2. Life had other plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one sort of just happened and got a little away from me...  
> My faithful beta (aka my hubbie) assured me it's good, so I'll post it.  
> This has been hugely inspired by MeLoveRF's newest instalation of "Living the tennis life"  
> I really wanted to write something more upbeat and happy but somehow the muse wouldn't let me...  
> Roger comes across a bit... iffy in this one - but he's disappointed and frustrated, so bear with him.
> 
> Hope you like it.
> 
> <>°O°<>

He's out. The tournament is over for him, Wimbledon is history for him for this year. So much talk of a chance at history repeating itself, so much focus and pressure on Rafa who hasn't managed the second week of this tournament in years and so little doubt that Roger would simply just breeze through the second week and reach the final without breaking so much as a sweat. But here they are now, four days away from the final in the round of the last eight. And Rafa has won and Roger has lost.

It has all turned sideways, has been twisted upside down and reality has suddenly shifted. The grim determination Roger felt before has evaporated and nothing but a feeling of complete and utter defeat and devastation is left. Rafa on the other hand who had seemed so genuinely happy and relaxed going into the tournament seems to finally have found the belief that maybe, just maybe there is a chance to win this thing.

Roger has seen a highlights reel of Rafa's match and it was plain as day that the younger man was nervous to the point of allowing himself to be distracted by it. Nervousness cost him that second set tiebreak, nervousness turned a three setter into a five hour, five sets long match that – quite frankly – could have gone either way. It seems Rafa has picked up that absolute will for victory and it has been standing in his way for most of the evening, making it a tough fight tonight. 

Seven years is a long time not to even reach the second week of the tournament. It's not a problem Roger can fancy himself to ever having had to deal with. Then again this is his tournament, his home territory, his place to be just as much as Roland Garros is Rafa's. They're not supposed to lose early and not have a chance at the title. But it happens – it happened to Rafa and now it has happened to him. There is no comfort in that thought though, none whatsoever.

It's very close to midnight and this rented house is quiet. His wife knows better than to engage him into much of any conversation tonight and the kids are fast asleep. Mirka knows better than to give him any surface to attack and engage in discussion with her. She knows it's best to give him a little time and a little space to come to terms with what happened out there tonight. He's all the more surprised when there's a knock on the door and Rafa is there standing in front of his door like Roger did at the younger man's rented home not too long ago. He's not keen on any visitors, but Rafa in particular is not somebody he wants to interact with. Not tonight. 

„Your house is two streets down, remember? You're not supposed to be here.“

Maybe he's being harsh and he's definitely being a bad host but he could care less. He's throwing pretty much the exact same words back at the Spaniard that Rafa said to him when he came over with a couple of wine and the wish to talk prior to the tournament. He's sure Rafa remembers but he doesn't let it show. What he does do however is to apologize. Somehow it doesn't mean much of anything to Roger. Rafa had expressed his... sorrow during his press conference already and Roger hasn't believed him then either. 

„I'm sorry...“

Rafa has been detached throughout the whole press conference but especially when being asked about Roger's loss. Roger has seen that part of the interview. Granted it was a stupid question the way it was asked but it isn't Rafa's first press conference on the tour. He could have found a better, a more emphatic way to get his point across. Roger isn't even sure why this is bothering him. But it does. Rafa doesn't care. The 10th anniversary of their epic final and Rafa doesn't care. Providence is a damn joke at this point.

„It's part of the game. Your words, not mine.“

Throwing Rafa's somewhat uncaring words at the press conference back at him doesn't have the desired effect. Somehow Roger isn't sure the younger man is aware that Roger just quoted from Rafa's own stupid press conference. Or maybe he doesn't care. Or quite possibly he barely even remembers. It's close to midnight, the press conference has been about two hours ago and Rafa looks a lot like he's about to fall asleep standing. A sudden wave of empathy washes over Roger but it doesn't last long. Rafa really has a tendency to say the wrongest thing in the worst possible moment tonight.

„You look like you're about to keel over...“

„Was a long match.“

Roger can't help but give a cold hard laugh at that. The urge to say 'Tell me about it' is almost overwhelming and he can't help the anger bubbling up. Yes, Rafa has played a long match but so as he. And unlike Roger, Rafa actually managed to gain something from the long hours of exhausting himself out there on the court. All Roger can take home is frustration and a lot of stupid and probing questions from audacious journalists who fuel their fire about him being too old for the whole sport anyway. Rafa gets to stay, gets to play another match, gets a fighting chance at the title... 

„You won. Now you can have a smart deal in the final. No worries about having to compete against me.“

„I never meant...“

„I really don't care what you meant. You said wishing to play a final against me would be stupid. Well congratulations – you got what you wanted!“

„I... I never wanted this...“

„You want to win! And don't give me any of this 'one match at a time' crap. This isn't tennis players anonymous, damn it. Just be honest with me!“

Roger isn't sure Rafa fully comprehends what he is trying to tell him. It is late, the younger man is obviously tired and keeping up with the rather rapid and probably not completely sensible string of English words thrown his way is most definitely a feat for Rafa. Then again Roger really couldn't care less. If Rafa hadn't wanted Roger's anger and frustration thrown his way he simply shouldn't have come here. Somehow Rafa still has that calm, somewhat detached demeanor to himself. Or maybe it's the fatigue talking. Either way his voice stays calm and even. 

“Yes, I want to win. I didn't want you to lose.”

Maybe Rafa means it and maybe Roger should accept the apology behind the words. Then again he doesn't feel he has to. Rafa has shown no indication he really cares, which begs the question why he has shown up here in the first place. He simply could have gone back to his rental home, could have crawled into bed and could have allowed a house full of team and family members to take care of him and help him regenerate for the semifinals on Friday. Semifinals... the word leaves a bitter aftertaste on Roger's tongue. He won't be here for that... He will be sidelined, forced to watch instead of being a part of it. The thought is infuriating and Rafa rubbing it in – purposefully or not – isn't helping.

“But it doesn't hurt either, does it?! Better chances for you, aren't they? Be careful though. It might end up a hollow win. Anyone will always question if you would have managed had it been a different final. You'll always have to ask yourself could you have won had today gone differently for me. You'll never know now.”

“I'm not in the final yet.”

That sort of puts things back into perspective. Maybe the 'one match at a time' talk, hasn't simply been talk after all. But it's not like the semi final will be a cakewalk for Rafa. Somehow there's a satisfactory feeling of glee about that and Roger isn't sure that's okay. Once again he really can't bring himself to care. He's angry, he's frustrated, he needs to pass the blame onto someone and Rafa is very conveniently there and doing his best of making an easy target. After all nobody told him to come here and talk to Roger.

“Maybe I should wait and see how it goes. I can come say sorry Friday night, see how you feel about it.”

It's not a nice thing to say but Roger honestly can't say he regrets it. He's not sure how he feels about the semifinal. He can't even begin to think about it, doesn't want to see any of it and in the end it doesn't matter to him who wins or looses. From his point of view neither one of the two opponents deserve it. Neither Novak who complained about court placement of the top seeds long and loudly enough for Roger to get dumped onto Court 1 for his match against Anderson nor Rafa who has been so blatantly ignorant and emotional to that touch of providence and the enormity of a chance at a repeat of the 2008 final up tot he point of being pretty much rude in the way he reacted to Roger's loss today. Roger isn't sure if Rafa doesn't pick up on the sarcasm and the malice or if he simply chose to ignore it. Either way he changes the topic, which in turn causes another wave of anger to crush down on Roger. 

„Are you not going home?“

„Of course I go home! Where else would I go? It's not like there's anything here for me anymore.“

Maybe he's not being entirely fair but then again he isn't the only one throwing unsympathetic statements around tonight. Rafa has been good at that ever since Wimbledon started and that damn thought simply won't leave Roger alone. He knows it's always difficult when talking to the press, he knows they ask questions in a way sometimes one is forced to give awkward answers. He knows Rafa probably really didn't mean it as badly as it came across... 

He also remembers Rafa on that warm summer evening a little over a week ago, out on the patio of his house, sharing a bottle of wine that Roger ended up drinking mostly alone, telling him a repeat of the final would be... nice. Even then Rafa had been guarded and careful with the words he chose. Roger probably should have known then and there that a heartfelt and happy reaction from Rafa about a possible final was not in the cards for him. But there seems to be something that Rafa still feels the need to point out to him, some reason why he is still here, allowing for Roger to unload his unhappiness and frustration on him. 

“It was a joke. Bad joke... And a compliment. Playing the final against you would be stupid. Little chances for me... for anyone”

Rafa is struggling with the words, trying to get his point across. Roger has to bite back a sarcastic answer, telling Rafa it was not for his opponent today. Today has been all about shocking realities and things that were not supposed to happen. But Roger doesn't get the chance to put more of his vicious thoughts into words. Rafa stops him before he can do so. 

“I am sorry for you. Truly sorry. Is a tough result...”

The last words linger and it seems Rafa is about to add something more but the words 'for the both of us' never come. Maybe just maybe, Rafa has simply been tired and not fully there at the press conference with his thoughts and feelings and maybe he simply is annoyed and irritated by being asked the same stupid questions over and over again. Maybe a little show of good faith and indulgence isn't entirely unwarranted. 

„Good luck, I guess.“

Neither one of them – it seems – has gotten what they wanted. Roger doesn't get his touch of providence culminating in a repeat of their epic 2008 final and Rafa doesn't get the absolution and forgiveness for his detached behavior and unemotional statements at his press conference. Maybe Roger lost today and Rafa won, but here in this moment they are both losing. It doesn't bring Roger the satisfaction he had hoped for. Actually it only makes him feel more hollow and sad than he already did feel before. Unlike in his 5 hours match against a great opponent, Rafa does something he hasn't done there and then. He gives up.

“Goodbye Roger.”


	3. Try again, fail again, fail better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a hard time getting this one done because initially I was gutted and heartbroken and very sad after that match ended earlier today.  
> But fortunately I have a great hubbie who managed to cheer me up and after watching Rafa's presser later on I felt a little bit better.  
> He seemed maybe not exactly happy but content and said he was proud of himself for what he achieved this year at Wimbledon so I don't feel we should be too disappointed about today. If he's happy so am I :)
> 
> Anyways - on with the conclusion of this years Wimbledon with the final oneshot.  
> This ones unbetaed, all mistakes are my own.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> <>°O°<>

It is past nine in the evening on this 14th of July 2018 and the third Grand Slam tournament of the year has ended just a couple of hours ago. At least for Rafa it has. Getting past his opponent in the semi finals – after a whole day of endless waiting, an evening match that had him not returning back to the house until after midnight and a continuation of that match today for yet another two hours – has proven to simply be too much to struggle through. 

The absolute, unconditional determination to win has evaporated but there hasn't exactly been a void left in it's stead. Actually Rafa isn't even that sorry about the whole thing. He has tried, tried his hardest and has fought and fought and fought. In the end it hasn't been enough. Just a fraction of too much bad luck, a tiny few too many mistakes being made, a couple of chances left unused and a handful of adversities thrown his way that have proven too much to handle. That has made the difference today. 

He has to admit he has failed. It is as simple as that. But it isn't the heartbreaking, gut-wrenching kind of debacle that it has been in years past. This is... a good failure. He has achieved a lot, more than he has managed in any of the past seven years for that matter, more than he has ever expected. It has been a great level of tennis, a great level of commitment and an overall good tournament. And there will be new chances – at the next tournament, at the next time Wimbledon comes around next year. 

He has slipped a couple of times during the tournament – both figuratively and literally. Today he has fallen. Now it is time to pick himself up again. But he isn't alone. It isn't like out there on court where the only one he can rely on and the only one he can blame and hold responsible for any mistakes is himself. He has his team and his family and as so many times before, they have proven the perfect support. 

His family has insisted on going out for dinner tonight with the entire team and spent one last evening all together before they go their separate ways for the rest of the month until the next tournament will start on the American continent. It is a chance to talk, laugh, spend time together and celebrate the overall success this year's Wimbledon has been – a lot more than in other, past years after all. 

They are supposed to leave within the next half hour and Rafa is in his bedroom, dressed and ready to go, randomly picking up things and dropping them in various bags and trolleys. After all they have to vacate the house on the next day and he still has to get on the order of the day which is packing. Dropping a dirty shirt into a bag, he is distracted when his phone rings and Rafa doesn't even look at the caller ID as he puts the phone on speaker.

He is surprised when the speaker on the other end of the line speaks English with him. He needs a moment to realize he is talking to Roger and the Swiss is pretty much the last person he has expected to hear from. Then again Roger has told him he will talk to Rafa after his semifinal to ask him how he feels.. about losing. It will probably turn into an awkward conversation but now he has answered the phone and there is no chance to change that any more. 

„Hola?“

„So apparently you're the savior of butterflies these days. And the spokesperson for outdoor tournaments.“

„I told them I didn't want to talk about the roof.“

„Doesn't seem to matter.“

Roger has apparently decided to try and lighten the mood and act like nothing bad has happened between them just a couple of days ago. The fact that the older man has heard about that little incident with the butterfly puts a smile on Rafa's face for just a moment but the comment about the closed off court however vexes the Spaniard. He has clearly stated at his press conference that he doesn't want to talk about the decision made. Apparently nobody from the press has listened to him However he doesn't appreciate to be reminded of it by Roger like this, which makes him react a little harsher than he has initially planned on. 

„Is this why you called? To talk about roofs and butterflies?“

„No. I... I saw your press conference. You didn't seem all that sorry to lose...“

„It was a great match, we played tennis on a very high level. What would I be sorry about?“

„Losing!“

Roger sounds almost exasperated but Rafa certainly doesn't plan on allowing the older man to bait him. Of course he is disappointed, of course he has wished for another outcome of the semifinal, of course he wished for the final and an 18th title. But it hasn't happened and he isn't one to dwell on missed opportunities. It doesn't help and it doesn't change anything. He actually catches himself shrugging in response, realizing only afterwards that of course Roger can't see him do it. 

„It happens.“

„Yeah part of the game, I remember.“

There is a long moment of silence and whatever it is Roger is doing in those long moments before he finds his voice again, it gives Rafa a chance to throw two more dirty shirts into his bag, waiting for some sort of reaction from the Swiss. He has very little to say to Roger. They have been pretty... harsh around one another before Roger left for home and the desire to speak to him isn't exactly big. When Roger finally speaks up again, Rafa can tell why it has taken so long. Obviously the older man needed a moment to gather his courage and push his pride aside before continuing.

„I'm sorry...“

„For what?“

„Saying you got what you wanted. Saying I would call and rub your nose in it if you lost. That wasn't very... nice of me.“

„No.“

„You're making this very hard...“

Roger sounds reproachful and Rafa wholeheartedly dislikes that fact. Obviously the older man expected him to be friendly and courteous in accepting his apology. Rafa however feels no need to make things so easy on Roger. After all he was the one to vent his frustration on him and that isn't something to be taken lightly. In the end it all comes down to one simple question – is Roger calling to feel better about himself or is he calling to make Rafa feel better? It's upon that condition the decision to be gracious and forgiving, forgetting about Roger's ugly and hurtful words from three days ago, rests

„You want to apologize for you or for me?“

„Both of us, I guess. Though it doesn't sound like you would feel any better if I did...“

„You were angry. I understand. It was a though day for you.“

„And today isn't a tough day for you?“

It's a difficult question to ponder and this time Rafa manages to stop himself from shrugging to an empty room again. He's probably supposed to feel sadder than he does, feel more frustrated and disappointed. Going into this semifinal things haven't exactly worked out in his favor and that much is bothering him but he can't change that now. And given the overall progression of the tournament and the way he has been playing, he simply can't bring himself to feel bad about that. 

„I'm going home, I'll be on holiday and I played a great tournament. I'm happy with myself.“

„You should be. With all those hours of waiting, that late night match yesterday, the heat under that roof today... Talk about adversity.“

„Is part...“

„... of the game as well, you said as much in your presser. Still seems like providence and fate weren't on our side this year.“

Rafa has to hide back a sigh at the mention of those things again. He said it in his own press conference that luck is not a factor for him because he doesn't believe in it. It's the same thing with destiny. But here Roger is talking about fate again. It seems the Swiss has taken a liking to the idea of destiny and providence. It's a sentiment Rafa cannot share, especially because it isn't like Wimbledon is like the Olympics. It comes around every year once a year and given the fact that they are both still very much at the height of their game, there is no need or reason to put too much stock into faith. There will be new chances for them – 12 months from now.

„Wimbledon is again in a year. I'll be there. You'll be there. We'll get another chance.“

„Yeah, we most definitely will.“

Roger actually sounds pleased at the prospect and that manages to make Rafa smile after all. He isn't exactly sure things are okay between them but he feels he has made it clear that he is no longer angry and Roger has gotten his apology across. It has been sort of a strange two weeks here at Wimbledon for the both of them. Different from other years. Maybe in that regard there really is some touch of providence to the whole tournament this year but Rafa doesn't really believe it. Somebody knocks on the door to his room, distracting him. It is time to go and have that dinner with his family, time to say goodbye to Roger, time to say goodbye to this years third Grand Slam at Wimbledon.

„I have to go. We're late for dinner. See you in Toronto, Roger?“

„See you in Toronto, Rafa.“

 

\- FIN -


End file.
